Thankful
by Aerial312
Summary: Tag to "Sins of the Father".  Tony is wary of his father suddenly making an effort.


"My father is cooking a turkey," Tony announced, as he slid onto his stool beside Ziva. He was about 15 minutes late meeting her at the bar.

Ziva's brow furrowed in confusion. "And that is why he left?" Tony had texted her earlier in the evening complaining that after all they had just been through, his father had left town without telling him. She'd suggested

"Turns out he didn't leave," Tony told her, turning to the bartender. "Gin martini, dirty."

"But he left the hotel? Where did he go?"

"I stopped by Gibbs' house cause I didn't feel like going home before coming here," he explained, though that still did not really answer the question.

"Your father is staying with Gibbs?" she asked.

He nodded. "I was going on and on about how he blew town again to Gibbs, and turns out he was in the kitchen. Dressing a fucking turkey."

Her eyes widened. "Dressing?"

Suddenly a big smile broke out on his previously melancholy face, and though it was at her expense, she was glad to see it. "Not like in clothes," he laughed.

"Obviously." She knew that. She just didn't quite understand his usage.

He was still chuckling when he explained, "Dressing a turkey is getting it ready to cook. Taking all the nasty inside bits out. Which of course he made me deal with."

Ziva crinkled her nose. "I have never cooked a whole turkey. It sounds like I do not wish to."

"Yeah…" He turned to his drink, and took a long swig.

She remained silent for a bit, watching him. He wasn't looking at her, rather focused down into his martini glass. Idly, he poked the toothpick that held the olives up and down in the alcohol. Something was still irking him. She needed to draw him out.

"Can I have an olive?"

He turned to look at her. "Hmm?"

He was really stuck in his head. "I asked if I could have an olive."

He scowled, but it was a fake scowl. He was only pretending to be put out. "You did not have snacks in your drink?"

She looked at her near-empty mojito and shrugged. "Your olive looks tastier than my bits of mint."

"It sure does," he chuckled. But he held the toothpick out in front of her face.

She grinned. Instead of taking it from him, she leaned in, closing her mouth around the closest olive. He was watching her closely, so she waggled her eyebrows at him as she pulled the gin-soaked olive from the little wooden skewer with her teeth.

"Good?" he asked, his voice a little husky.

"Mmmhmm," she grinned.

He smiled softly, and ate the other olive, flicking the empty toothpick at the bar. His gaze returned to his glass. So much for that effort.

"You are unhappy."

He turned back to her, and took a deep breath before answering. "No. Yes. Maybe."

She waited for him to continue.

It took a little while, but he did. "When I thought he left without saying goodbye, I was pissed, you know? More of the same bullshit, after everything we just did for him. But then, then he was there in Gibb's kitchen with a fucking apron on—he's never cooked a turkey in his life!"

"You're saying that this mood is because you fear it will not be edible?" she scoffed, because that clearly wasn't the reason.

His eyes caught hers and she knew he knew that she did not actually believe that was the reason. "It's just he goes from making no effort to trying too hard. It's like…"

"He is trying to make up for—"

"Not giving a fuck all these years."

"Yes," Ziva conceded.

"And you know, I'm not even sure it's a genuine effort to make up that stuff." He gestured to the bartender for another drink.

She gave him a look that said 'slow down', but did not voice it. "Why do you not think its genuine?"

"Because he's at Gibbs' house," Tony answered simply.

"You think Gibbs is making him?"

His drink arrived before he answered. Continuing to put off giving her an answer, he held out the olive stick, waving it in front of her face.

"You just wish to watch me do that again."

He grinned at the memory. "Pretty much. It was hot."

She smiled widely. She liked that he had stopped trying to hide his leering. "Put it back in the glass and let it sit longer so it gets more ginny."

"Ginny?" he laughed.

"What?" she demanded playfully, knowing full well that it wasn't really a word. "Is there a real term for that?" 

"Full of gin?" he offered. Placing the toothpick back into its bath of liquor, he took a sip, then put it down on the bar napkin and turned back to her seriously. "I don't think Gibbs is making him do it, per se. But I do think that Gibbs is making him feel guilty."

"No doubt," she agreed. Gibbs did not take it lightly when one of his team was mistreated. "You are not happy about this."

"I am wary," he told her. "We might have a great time Thursday, but then what?"

"You think it will go back to normal?"

He snorted. "Normal. That's a joke. There has been nothing normal about the relationship between Dad and I."

"That's not how I meant it."

"I know."

"Normal for you guys," she clarified. "Which, unfortunately is…"

"Dismal," he nodded, picking up his drink and taking a sip.

"Perhaps he is truly making an effort this time," she offered. "You can always hope."

"Our relationship has always been about hoping. Hoping for things that never come."

He finished his second drink, and ate the first olive, holding out the other for her. She wrapped her lips around it, and gave him a show again. The effort earned a small smile.

"I am thankful that we were able to prove that he was innocent."

"Perhaps that is the key. Being thankful for the day without worry about what will come."

"It is Thanksgiving," Tony nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure my dad would be thankful if you came," he added.

"Your dad, huh?"

He smirked. "Well, maybe I'd be a little thankful too."


End file.
